


The Behavior of Sheep

by Paversandplatters



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Dreamwastaken, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Reader-Insert, She/Her, Slow Burn, no beta we die like men, reader is assumed female, sorry - Freeform, updates weekly/daily, you/dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29755278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paversandplatters/pseuds/Paversandplatters
Summary: “I-I  can't breathe-  I can't” he stutters but is cutoff by Nick’s sudden yelp as a wave of rotten gore sprays across the windshield.  It's undeniable that the sight and smell is enough to stick with you for days but anyone that has struck a zombie with a car knows that the worst part is the noise. Rather that is- the gore and rot engulfs all senses sure- but  it's the sound that lives on in memory. It's a series of greasy crunching sounds that bring to mind the thunk of an axe cutting through cords of rotting termite infested wood.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Reader, Sapnap/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	1. Shortcut

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me I haven’t written anything in a long time so this may be a bit rusty, but I’ll be editing this chapter while I continue on the next. This was fully inspired “Stray” by etholliot (eggpainter). If you haven’t checked it out do so before even reading this! All feed back is welcome.

“Would you please shut up for just one minute!?” She calls out behind the steering wheel, voice horse, and struggling to keep the battered SUV On the road, keeping speed and avoiding the now long forgotten vehicles left on the two lane road. Every part of her feels like it's on fire. Blood from the oozing wound on her scalp finds its way right into her eye, clouding her vision further.

“Told you we've just gotta put some distance between us and Calhoun, then we can pull over for medical attention ASAP. ” Her eyes quickly flit between the road and the rearview mirror trying to get a glimpse at George in the darkness of the back seat. The young man is leaning his head against the broken rear window as the Escalade rumbles past a cluster of figures milling about the edge of the road. A single glance tells her they're hunched over something- or rather what's left of someone. She pushes the thought from her mind and tries to assess George again. He catches her eyes in the mirror only to look away- blinking tears away and wheezing miserably, his free hand gripping the bloody remains of what was his shirt over his middle. No doubt covering the gaping wound there.

The broken window rattles, as a slip stream of wind tussles his now blood matted hair. Nick is sat next to him looking equally disheveled but still in one piece- save some scrapes and bruises. 

“I-I can't breathe- I can't-” he stutters out cutoff by Nick’s sudden yelp as a wave of rotten gore sprays across the windshield. It's undeniable that the sight and smell is enough to stick with you for days but anyone that has struck a zombie with a car knows the worst part is the noise. Rather that is- the gore and rot engulfs all senses, sure, but I t's the sound that lives on in memory. It's a series of greasy crunching sounds that bring to mind the thunk of an axe through cords of rotting termite infested wood. A horrible Symphony sounds as the dead are grounded into paste beneath the moving chassis and thick wheels. A quick series of dull pops and cracks as liquefying organs and bladders are squished. Bones are turned to kindling and skulls crushed open and flattening, mercifully bringing an end to a treacherous pilgrimage. This hellish noise is the first thing that registers with her and the two men in the back seat of the battered Escalade.

Both let out another yelp of shock and revulsion, holding on to the seats with a vice like grip as the SUV bucks and fishtails across the now wet and slippery tarmac. Most of the cadavers go down like domino pieces, pulverized by 3 tons of careening Detroit metal. Some of the excess flesh and appendages stumble across the hood leaving a ghastly trail of rancid fluids on the windshield, other body parts go pinwheeling in the air arcing across the night Sky. It might have been humorous if their own situation wasn’t so dire… 

She remains silent, hunched forward- her jaw set and eyes fixed on the road, her arms still wrestling with the jittering steering wheel as the massive vehicle goes into a skid. The engine revs and keens as it reacts to the loss of traction. The squeal of the huge steel belted radials adding to the din, hands yanking the wheel back the other way turning into the skid as best she can in order to avoid spinning out of control when she notices something that has gotten lodged in the gaping hole in her side window. 

The disembodied head of a zombie only inches away from her left ear. It’s teeth chattering softly, somehow it got caught in the jagged maw of broken glass, gnashing its blackened incisors at her fixing it's ghostly milky gaze on her. The sight of it is so grisly and awful and yet so surreal- the creaking of the jaws snapping at her with the hollow autonomic force of a ventriloquist dummy. She lets out an involuntary chortle, one akin to a laugh but darker… she jerks her head away from the window. Registering over the space of a single instance the fact that the re-animated cranium was torn from its upper body upon impact with the SUV and now still continues to go on without it’s body, seeking living flesh… forever seeking, forever masticating swallowing and consuming, an impulse never satiated.

“Lookout!”

The scream comes from the flickering darkness of the rear seats. In all the excitement she can't identify the source. Wether it's Nick or George- the issue is moot because she mistakes the meaning of the cry and the split second during which her hand flies to the passenger seat and fishes through the contents of it rifling through Maps, candy wrappers, rope and tools- frantically searching for the 9 millimeter Glock- she assumes that the warning cry it is meant to lookout for the snapping jaws of the amputated head. She finally gets her hands on the grip of the Glock and wastes no time swinging it up with one fluid motion towards the window and squeezing off a single point blank shot into the grotesque face skewered there. The head comes apart with the blossom of pink mist, splitting like a melon and sending splatter of viscera into her hair before being launched into the wind, the vacuum left behind in the broken window throbs noisily adding to the din. 

Less than 10 seconds have transpired since the initial impact but now she sees that reason that one of the men in the back gave such a warning- it's nothing to do with the reanimated head- what they were screaming about back there- thing that she was supposed to lookout for… is now looming on the opposite side of the highway coming up quick on their right closing. She feels the gravity shift as she swerves in order to avoid the mangled wreckage of a VW bug sliding across the gravel shoulder then plunges down into a steep embankment on the dark unknown wooden grove. 

Pine barrows and foliage scrape and slap the windshield as the vehicle bangs and clambers on the rocky slope. The voices in the back rise into a frenzied screams

She feels the land level out and manages to keep the vehicle going long enough to find purchase in the mud- then slams down the accelerator and the Escalade lurches forward under its own power. The massive grill and gigantic tires grinding through the thickets cobbling over deadfalls, mowing down the wild undergrowth and tearing through the scrub as though it were smoke. for the seemingly endless minutes the bumpy ride threatens to encompass her spine and rupture her spleen. In the blurry image of the rear view she gets a brief glimpse of the two injured young men holding on to the back seats for fear of bouncing right out of the vehicle. The front end hits a log hard and the impact nearly cracks her teeth.

For a minute or so they swerve through a thin patch of trees. When they burst out of the brush, an explosion of dirt, leaves and particles- she sees that they've inadvertently come upon another unidentified two lane road. She slams the brakes causing the men to headbutt the seats with an audible ‘thwap.

She sits there for a second taking deep breaths, getting air back in her lungs. She looks around. The men in the back collectively groan and whine, now suddenly back into their seats, holding themselves. The engine idles noisily, a new rattling sound is introduced to the low rumble- probably bearing a knocked loose in the improvised off-road adventure. 

“Okay-“ she starts softly “that's one hell of a shortcut” 

The only response for the backseat is silence- the humor lost on the two young men. Above them a black opaque sky is just beginning to lighten with the purple of a pre-dawn glow in the dull light. They can just see enough detail to now realize that they've landed across an access road and the woods have given way to wetlands. To the East she can see the a canal winding through a fog, probably leading to the edge of a swamp and to the West a rust pocket sign says state road ‘505- 3 miles’ no sign of roamers in either direction.


	2. The Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for those who shown some support! I’ll be trying to update as quickly as I can and chapters will start to get longer very soon.

Judging from that sign up there”she says “I think we've just crossed the Florida state line and didn't even know it.”

Y/n puts the vehicle in gear carefully making a U turn and starts down the road in a westerly direction. Her original plan was find refuge in one of the larger towns along North Florida’s citrus belt such as Lake City or Gainesville- still seems viable despite the fact that the engine continues to ping and complain- something has come loose during the plunge to the woods and she doesn't like the sound of it. They need to find a place to stop soon look under the hood, get their wounds looked at- rest maybe, maybe find some provisions and fuel.

“Hey look!” Nick speaks up from the shadows of the rear seats pointing off to the Southwest at the end of the lot.  
Y/n drives another 100 yards or so and then brings the Escalade to a stop at the gravel shoulder. She kills the engine and silence crashes down on the car’s interior, it’s almost deafening. Nobody says anything at first- they just stare at the road sign in the middle of the distance. It's one of those cheap translucent white fiberglass ones, set on wheels with the big removal plastic letters still bearing the words “Calvary Baptist Church all welcome Sunday 9 -&\- 11.”

Through the spindly Cypress trees and columns of pine that line the road, she can see the luminous white gravel of a deserted parking lot. The long narrow lot leads to the front of a building, it's broken stained glass windows partially boarded up. Its steeple caved in on one side and scorched as if its seen a bombing raid. She stares at the huge steel cross at the top of the steeple- which is covered with a patina of rust- has come loose from its moorings.  
It now lays upside down dangling by the remains of its rotted hardware. She can't help but get very still while gazing up at the ruin upended cross, the symbolism isn't lost on her but it may only be the beginning. She never been one for religion but realizes that this may very well be a sign that they've been left behind and this is the rapture and the world is a purgatory now. They’ll have to deal with what remains like junkyard dogs or vermin stuck in a sinking ship. 

“Remind me”she says almost under her breath not taking her eyes off the building in the distance one of the windows in the rear has a dull yellow incandescent glow, behind it the chimney is spewing a thin wisp of smoke into the lightning sky.

“how much ammunition did y'all manage to scavenge before we left Calhoun?” the two young men give each other a quick look  
Nick speaks up “I have one of the 33 round mags for the Glock and a box of two dozen .380s for the other pistol and that's it..”

“That's more than I managed.” George grimaces “all I managed to grab ammunition wise is what was in the office which I think it's like 6 rounds, maybe 8?”She picks up her Glock from the seat counting the number of times she's fired since they left Calhoun she's got six rounds left.

“All right gentlemen ... I want you to bring all of it, all the hardware locked and loaded.” she opens the door “and look alive…”  
The two men get out of the vehicle and join her in the Golden light of the dawn. Something is wrong, Nick notices His hand are shaking as he injects a fresh magazine into the hilt of his pistol  
“Y/n, I don't understand” he says finally.  
“what are we loading up for? I doubt there's anything in there but scared church people. What are we doing?”  
But she's already started down towards the church- her Glock is gripped tightly in her hands, arms dangling at her side like a calling card.  
“It's the end of the world boys there's no such thing as church anymore it's all up for grabs…”  
The two young men glanced at each other for a moment before hurrying up to catch up with her. They approached the property from the rear, through the grove of sickly eucalyptus trees that mark the outer edges of the churches lot. She can smell the stench of menthol and ammonia in the air as she creeps across the weed whiskered gravel, careful not to make too much noise when her boots crunch under the stones. The light in the chapel's rear window has dwindled with the morning sun and the roaring of crickets fade now, the silence returns over making her heart throb in her ears.

She pauses behind a tree about 20 feet away from the lighted window ... With a few quick hand signals she rouses the two who are hiding behind a nearby oak. Nick moves out from behind cover carrying the pistol against his solar plexus like a vestigial appendage. George moves behind his friend wide eyed and jumpy flinching at the twinges of pain. These two are not exactly the crème de la crème in the world's new survivor class she realizes but perhaps she should see these young men as they truly are. Loyal partners, and friends- surviving all the same. 

She issues another signal stabbing a finger at the rear of the building. One by one the three of them move toward the small woodside annex off the rear of the Chapel- she’s in the lead her pistol now gripped in both hands, now pointed downward. The closer they get the more the sun rises over the horizon the more they realize something isn't right. The windows of the building and rectory of the deacons quarters are lined with aluminum foil. The screen door has been ripped off its hinge and the inner door is nailed shut and crisscrossed with lumber. The stench of the dead permeates the air and gets stronger as they approach. She reaches the building first and she gently stands with her back against the boarded door signaling the others with a the tip of her finger to her lips.

They approach as quietly as possible, stepping lightly over the trash and dead leaves that are skidding across the back of the deck in the morning breeze. George stands just behind her, while Nick keeps to her side, both keeping weapons at the ready. She reaches down to her scuffed boot and pulls out a 12 inch Randall knife from the interlining. She carefully wedges the point under one of the boards near the door latch and Yanks.

The door probes stubborn. She pries at it repeatedly with the knife making more racket than she cares to but she has no choice they would make even more noise if they had tried to break through one of the windows. The nails give slightly the creaking sound amplified and the hushed daylight. She has no idea of what they're about to find inside this building but she fairly certain now that both humans as well as the dead inhabit this place.

Zombies don't build fires and the average survivor with the access to soap and water doesn't usually smell like death. The door finally gives and the two men moving closer to her, guns up now as they enter at the same time. They find themselves in an empty room illuminated by dim yellow light and the smell of stale smoke and Bo smacks them in the face. She crosses the floor, her boots making the floorboards creak. She makes note of the small potbelly stove still radiating the heat of the dying embers, the braided rug stained with blood, a desk littered with teabags, dishes, candy wrappers gossip magazines, a few empty 44 bottles and crumpled cigarette packs…

She goes over to the desk and looks down at the display of playing cards arranged in the classic poker pattern it looks like somebody, likely a hand full of people, were here only a moments ago and left in a hurry. A noise from behind the inner doors suddenly takes her attention. she whips her head around to the source, both men stand across the room gazing sheepishly back at their leader.

Again she puts a four finger to her lips giving them the signal to hush. The two mens eyes are aglow with nervous tension, on the other side of the door shuffling noises build, the telltale sound of dragging feet. There's also the reek of mortified flesh almost as pungent as the methane and it's getting stronger. She recognizes that a number of undead are trapped in an enclosed space. She turns and points to George’s shotgun.  
Nick understands that he's supposed to blow the lock off the door and George is supposed to back them both up. Neither young man is very happy about this plan. Nick looks pale and George is drenched in sweat both of them nursing wounds and perhaps even internal bleeding. Neither seem gung ho about fighting off and undetermined number of biters. But she is an irresistible leader and the mere look in her eyes is enough to kill any dissension in the ranks. She holds three fingers up. She begins to countdown. 3, 2-  
A loud crack sounds as a rotten hand covered with mold burst through the weak spot in the lumber.

Nothing in reality ever seems to play out the way George imagines it should. He trips on his backward shuffling feet and falls on to the floor. The pain in his ribs explode the injury jostled by the impact and at the same time another pair of hands thrust their way through the busted slats of the door. Looking up he sees she has pulled something from her boot. He watches as a dull gleam of a Buck knife strikes through the air. She drives the blade through the tissue and cartilage sawing through the bone it’s hands flopping to the floor as neatly as tree limbs being pruned.

George watches as he tries to sit up, the back of his throat burns and his body threatens to upchuck the paltry contents of a stomach. Things are moving quickly now, hands are flopping around him like fish on a boat’s deck, slowly growing still as the electrical impulses from the reanimated central nervous system drains out. George’s vision blurs his mind swimming dizziness gripping him as his wounded lungs labor to get air.

She's already scooped the fallen shotgun from the floor pumping shells into its breach with a single jerk of her arms as she turns back to the door George manage to get himself back up into a standing position kicking the ghastly hands out of the way . She slims a boot into the door and it implodes revealing the interior of a dark Chapel. Nick gets a fleeting glimpse of the sanctuary before the 1st blast shatters the tableau.  
What was once a quaint little church with stain glass and pine pews now resembles an arbiter from the 9th circle of hell. The dead number in dozens maybe as many as 40 or 50 most of them chained to the pews with heavy chains. They react to the light of the outer room as if she had just turned over her oktan exposed a colony of vermin.

Insensate faces jerk towards the noise, some are decorated with spiked collars and others have large makeshift cage like muzzles. The scene gives a a sense of some sort of demented zoo or kennel for these reanimated cadavers. Stranger still, in that terrible instant before the first flash of the 12 gauge, it seems like somebody apparently tried to administer these beings after they were reanimated.

In front of each are dead birds morsels, pieces of roadkill or unidentified human remains are scattered in the pews next to each being. The candles still burn in the same sanctuary on the advert stands in the front room on the modest little altar. Somewhere the buzz of a live microphone drones. The air smells of modified sewage perfumed with rancid flesh and disinfected.

Nick gets one final glance at her before the air lights up- the look on her face is a mixture of sorrow, rage, loss and regret. It's the look of someone confronting the merciless abyss. Then the shooting starts.  
The first blast flashes and takes the closest cadaver down in a puff of carnal tissue, the shell ripping through the skull and taking a chunk out of the wood above the door. Three subsequent shots happen, making their ears ring. Already covered with blowback her anguished face stippled and splattered, she now moves deeper into the Chapel and starts in on the others.

It only takes a few minutes, the air flashing like a fireworks display as she goes from pew to pew, either vaporizing skulls or thrusting her Randall knife through petrified nasal cavities before the things even get a chance to bite at the air. George staggers towards the open door to get a better view and he notices Nick just in the side Chapel entrance.

She has the strangest look on her face now as she finished off the last of the monsters with a hard quick slashes of the knife the gun has been emptied, 8 shells peppering the wall behind the heaps of moldering flesh. Completely slick with blood, her eyes burning with inscrutable emotions, she almost looks beatific as she dispatches with the last re animated corpse .

For one terrible moment watching this all from the doorway Nick thinks of a woman having an orgasm. She lets out a voluptuous sigh of relief as she impales the skull of what seems to be an elderly woman. The Crone sacks against the back of her Pew, she was once somebody's mother, somebody's neighbor. She may have once baked cookies for her grandchildren search for famous bread pudding add ice cream socials and laid to rest her beloved husbands of 47 years in the Cemetery out behind the rectory .

Y/n pauses to catch her breath staring down at the woman, head bowed for a moment, when all at once she abruptly stops and looks up narrowing her eyes. She cocks her head to one side and listens closely to something in another part of the building at last she fixes her gaze on George and so softly whispers 

“do you hear that ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One can only guess what else they might find. 
> 
> :)


	3. A site to behold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! Life happens and typing this out on my phone proves to be very annoying. I have all of this mostly written out physically but it takes time to type it out properly.

Nick manages a slow shake of his head as she looks up at the railings of the church choir loft, it’s about 20 feet above them. She reaches for the knife at her hip, pulling the bloodstain instrument from her belt keeping it at the ready. With a few hand signals motioning to follow.

With some great reluctance they begin to ascend the stairs with her cringing slightly as each wooden step creaks softly in protest. Once at the top she realizes that there are three doors two on the left hand wall, both a women's and men’s restroom and at the very end of the narrow walk way is a door slightly ajar leading into what they can assume is storage. With bated breath she listens silently noting that the sound seems to be coming from the women's restroom. loud rattling and scraping of metal against the floor, heavy footsteps marching back and forth; faster and not as clumsily as the cadavers below them were. Chains, she realizes, it sounds like chains. 

With a few hand waves they position themselves around the doorway with their backs against the wall she reaches for the handle of the door slowly pushing it open. The rattling of chains and footsteps stop in time with the dull whine the door makes- silence returns. Heart pounding in her ears, she glances towards Nick and George seeing how both are white knuckling their guns In anticipation of the worst. 

A moment passes ...  
Then another ...  
Nothing.

Not a sound. 

They glanced between each other- a conversation carries on silently. Who is going to look in? Though the question isn't left unanswered for very long before she takes the first step to move into the doorway, craning her neck to peek at what hellish creature maybe waiting there.

Her breath is caught mid step,She'd been expecting this but somehow the site still caught her off guard. Perhaps it's just the sheer towering height of the thing stood there in the middle of the room- it's figure outlined in the dull orange morning light that’s managed to seep through the cracks and opening of the boarded up window in this dirty abandoned restroom... Or maybe that it’s the bulky metal chains connected to each appendage. Each end of chain is anchored to different areas of the room some to the ceiling, other to the walls and the floor very obviously meant to restrict the movement of this thing. But the most striking feature was the large circular mask on its face bearing no features save a simple smiley face. Much like the biters downstairs a large crudely made cage framed his head connecting to a heavy and equally crudely made metal collar around its neck.

She's frozen, examining the creature before her. The very presence of this thing is almost overwhelmingly terrifying. It's just standing there stock-still faced in the vague direction of the door, covered head to toe in caked blood and dirt. She almost doesn't notice it at first but… it’s shoulders are rising and falling in a slow rhythm. It's breathing. It’s ALIVE. 

“Holy shit!”

She must have been caught in her trance too long as Nick’s reaction not only makes her jump but also the person before them suddenly starts to move and reel backwards, thrashing violently like a wild predatory animal trying to escape its bindings. He’s backed himself into a a corner pulling on the chain hard enough she sure his wrists have to have taken some sort damage but he makes no reaction to such. Nick unconsciously stumbles back crashing into George sending them both onto their asses, George whines at the Jostling of his still unattended wounds.

“Nick what the fuck-“ The thought is suddenly cut off as he catches site of the thing before them.

“What isI the fuck is that?!”  
George squeals out now three shades paler, be it from the shock or loss of blood. Nick is the first to level his gun at the figure. Instinct takes over as she knocks the gun from his hand the single round missing its target and lodging itself into the rafters above. 

“WAIT!” The proclamation is met with two very confused faces. 

“He's alive! don't shoot hold your fire.” She doesn't so much ask, as much demands. They exchange a look of complete disbelief, truthfully she knows they can’t be blamed.

“Just hold on they're still alive and obviously being kept here forcibly.” she clarifies. The ominously large figure pauses in its violent thrashing to turn an look in her direction or well the direction of her voice. Can this thing even see? The tension in his posture is enough to let her know he still hasn't let his guard down but is obviously listening to her words. Lord only knows what he's seen and experienced in the time that he’s been shackled here.  
Cautiously she steps forward. 

“You are alive aren’t you…?” It takes a moment but she’s answered with a curt nod. 

“Why are you being kept here…” nothing happens for a long moment before he shrugs. She moves to take another step. 

“Can you speak…?” The knife in her hand is still raised and ready. A glance behind her assures that her two companions are poised and ready for back up. 

Again he doesn’t speak but his body language tenses a bit more but he doesn't make a move to oppose her coming closer. Boots thump softly against the floor, his breathing sounds labored now, likely exhausted. 

“You’re injured aren’t you..?” The massive figure takes a moment to tilt his head questioningly before nodding. 

“I can help, I won’t hurt you unless you hurt me… understand?”  
Another nod. Good this makes this much less complicated. When her hand finds his arm, it’s quickly yanked from her grip drawn backward away from her in protest.

“Woah hold on big guy it’s just me, I have to check you over… make sure you’re not infected or something. “

He slowly stills, allowing her hand to rest on his forearm.  
She begins to narrate her next steps as she moves her hands to grab the bottom of his shirt. there's too much blood, dirt and grime on the garment to be able to tell the extent of the wounds there. The shirt ends up being peeled off, having been stuck to the skin with now long coagulated clumps of blood. It reveals a long gash that starts at the bottom of his ribcage curved down to just under his left hip. She has no idea how he still holding together- from the looks of it his guts should be spilling out onto the floor. She’s not sure whether or not to call this a miracle or some hellish punishment he’s meant to endure. Continuing on to check him over, there are numerous blossoming bruises and welts, all in different stages of healing. she swears she that one of his ribs is poking out at an odd angle. The more she inspects the more it sickens her to look at. 

“You’ve really been through hell haven't you..” there is no response to her words. 

“He’s clean. No bites just fucked up.” She calls out confirming her findings to party waiting in the doorway. 

“That thing is really alive…?” the Brit mutters out still looking on with complete shock still settled into his features. 

“So now what? He must have been chained for a reason, are you just gonna let him out..?” Nick questions voice obviously portraying his concern. Again she doesn’t blame him, there’s no evidence to suggest any of this is a good idea.

“He could’ve killed me already if he wanted… besides he knows he’s out numbered..” 

“What- you’re not actually going to- y/n no absolutely not!” George squawks protest. 

“I can’t just leave him here.” Y/n confirms, hands already in her pocket fishing for the one of the most invaluable items she owns: a hair pin.

“He could be a murder for all you know!”

“Like we aren’t..?” She mutters back. In the two years the worlds gone to shit, survival comes at any cost- even at the expense of other people lives. It’s a harsh reality sure, but what other choice is there? You do what you can to keep moving, if you’re lucky you find a party that’s willing to move with you for the sake of safety in numbers and a common goal. George of all people should be aware of that more than anything… 

With out any further words of protest, she produces the pin from her pocket setting to work on freeing his arms and legs first. He keeps to himself but begins to tremble slightly. It’s takes some time and finessing, but shackles clatters to the ground one by one. The only thing that remains on his person is the cage and mask on his head. 

“You’re too tall, lean down so I can get that stupid thing off you.”  
He bows his head almost eagerly, nearly folding himself in half trying to grant her as much access as possible. The angle is awkward, making the task that much harder, none the less after a few minutes of fidgeting the collar pops open. Just as soon as it does his hands fly to his neck, desperate to remove the cage. He tosses it aside, and frantically his hands reach to the back of his head pulling the straps of the mask still stuck on his face. With sheer brute force it’s pulled free, joining the cage at the other end of the room. 

Suddenly she’s met with wild green eyes that peek out under from long wavy dirty blonde hair. Just barely, able to make the faint marking of freckles on his face before he turns quickly to stare down at the two men guarding the doorway. The cloth gag in his mouth is pulled free as if were made of paper. 

His voice rings out raw and cracked. 

“they’ll be back soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do let me know what you think so far! I’ll be updating again soon. I’m sorry that this is a rather short chapter, next one will be much longer I promise!


End file.
